


Project Revival

by TheCanadianOpinionist



Category: Project Wingman (Video Game)
Genre: Explicit Language, Fighter Pilots, Gen, Military, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Third Person, Post-Canon, Zombie Apocalypse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-20
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-16 08:29:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29573211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheCanadianOpinionist/pseuds/TheCanadianOpinionist
Summary: Disclaimer and stuff: This was made by a dude who hasn’t written one fanfic in his whole life (and not one combat sequence). I write often but haven’t done anything like this. Hopefully, the dialogue isn’t crap and the premise isn’t trash.(Title cred goes to HB, thanks.)Also, everything is based on the Project Wingman Game and universe, by Sector D2. All characters are created by them. I wrote this to kill some time, not to plagiarize anything.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 4





	Project Revival

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer and stuff: This was made by a dude who hasn’t written one fanfic in his whole life (and not one combat sequence). I write often but haven’t done anything like this. Hopefully, the dialogue isn’t crap and the premise isn’t trash. 
> 
> (Title cred goes to HB, thanks.)
> 
> Also, everything is based on the Project Wingman Game and universe, by Sector D2. All characters are created by them. I wrote this to kill some time, not to plagiarize anything.

Monarch stirred under his thin blanket. It was colder than usual in the sleeping quarters, and the ground crew couldn’t be bothered to fix the weak air conditioning, so most nights were freezing. He pulled the covers off in frustration and sat up, giving up on trying to find a comfortable position to sleep. 

The room around him was dark, but he could still make out the three other cots. One of the beds belonged to Prez, and she was sleeping soundly in a bundle of blankets. 

_At least one of us is sleeping,_ he thought. The other two beds were empty, to Monarch’s surprise. Comic and Diplomat were nowhere to be found. They never got up that the same time, much less before Monarch began his morning routine, and he didn’t hear them suiting up for a mission while he was struggling to sleep. 

He looked over at a small digital clock beside him, the red display reading three AM. _Where could they have gone?_ He pondered. Sighing as he wiped his face with his sleeve, Monarch quietly got out of bed and slipped on an olive green flight jacket, trying not to wake his WSO. 

As he opened the door, the hallway light pouring into the room, he heard a sleepy Prez behind him.

“Where-” She yawned, “Where ya going Monarch?” Prez sat up in bed, brushing aside the brown hair on her face.

He gestured to the two empty cots beside her.

“Huh? Are they out flying or something? Isn’t it a bit early for a mission?” Prez looked over at her alarm clock, noticing how early it was.   
Monarch shrugged.

“Hold on, let me come with you,” She said as she rubbed her eyes.

Before Monarch could object, Prez was on her feet, putting on her flight jacket and hand combing her hair. She walked to the door, they both entered the bright hallway.

The fluorescent lights bore down on the pair as they walked down the white-walled corridor. It was quiet, save for the two’s running shoes squeaking on the tile, but the silence was a given at three AM. A few whines and buzzes from various machinery across the base, but there was barely any activity.

“Man, where are they?” Prez complained, “Dip usually can’t shut up about it when he goes out on a solo mission. Maybe they’re at the hangars?”

Monarch again shrugged and pointed with his thumb to the direction of the hangars. 

Prez looked up at Monarch and stared at him for a second. “Man, less than 3 hours of sleep and you look like shit, man.” 

Monarch grinned and gestured at Prez in retort.

“I mean judging from you, I can’t look any better,” Prez replied, “After we kill Dip and Comic for getting us up this early, I’m spending thirty minutes under a hot shower.”

 _Dust mother, how comforting that would be._ Monarch leaned his head back at the thought of a hot shower.

The two kept walking toward the hangars, rounding a corner into a long hallway with two push doors at the end, marked “Flight HANGAR.”

“You know,” Prez began, “It’s kind of relaxing walking in silence, in the day you have the ground crew clanging about, and Comic berating whoever bumped into her in the hall, not to mention everyone at the gun range.”

Monarch couldn’t help but nod in agreement. The commotion of an airbase was something you’d think you could get used to, but he was always on edge, smelling like gasoline every night. 

Just as they were mere meters from the door, the loud **crack** of a gunshot ripped through the air, emanating from the hangar doors. 

“Shit, what was that?” Prez yelled as she dove to the ground. 

Monarch dove too and found himself propped up against a closet door. He threw the door open and waved for Prez to get inside, clambering in himself and slamming it closed as she entered. He put his pointer finger to his mouth and stood in silence. The closet was dark, the only light coming from the cracks in between the top and the bottom of the door.

Another gunshot vibrated through the walls. Closer to the Hangar door. A third rang out, this time with distant panicked yelling. The sound of the metal push doors opening and shutting in quick succession rang in Monarch’s ears. 

“Shit, fuck, shit, shit, shit, fuck” A panicked voice said outside of the door.

 _Comic._ Monarch recognized the voice. He shared the look of realization on Prez’s face. She glanced at the door and looked back at him, nodding. Monarch grabbed the door handle, and slowly inched the door open.

Comic jumped at the door opening and swiftly pointed her Glock 92 at the closet. Prez and Monarch shuffled out, hands raised.

“Don’t shoot! Don’t shoot. It’s us Comic,” Prez said in response to the gun.

“I DON’T KNOW THAT!” Comic yelled, hands shaking, “JUST-JUST STAY BACK!” 

“What do you mean you don’t know that? Comic, It’s us, we’re not gonna hurt you,” Prez replied.

Comic eased a little after looking at the two. She still was shaking, sweat pouring from her forehead. “I-I think I, fuck, I t-think I killed D-Dip,” she said on the verge of breaking down. Tears welled in her eyes.

Monarch’s eyes widened.

“What!? What happened?” Prez questioned.

“I don’t … k-know. He just c-came at me and his eyes and mouth were covered in orange, there was something w-wrong with him, fuck, and he kept trying to bite me and there was too much going on and my reflexes kicked in and I shot him but he didn’t stop-” Comic dropped on knees as her gun clattered on the floor. Tears streamed down her face. 

“Comic, easy now, I’m sure it was an accident or something, you just have to calm down,” Prez crouched down beside Comic.

Monarch stood there, silent as ever, thoughts racing in his head. Hitman two, his friend, his wingman, dead. What could’ve happened? 

Comic looked up at Monarch, with a face of guilt, fear and despair, she spoke, “Monarch I-I’m sorry. I’m sorry. D-Dip, you, and I joined, and swore to-, a-and I just murdered him. I’m sorry.” Comic apologized again and again.

Comic’s eyes darted to the gun and back to Monarch. Monarch kicked the gun away abruptly, inferring the situation, and knelt to meet Comic’s eye level. He put his hand on her shoulder and shook his head. _It couldn’t have been your fault._

Comic relaxed a bit, composing herself.

**Bang.**

Something pounded on the metal doors. Comic had locked them, but whatever was on the other side hammered on it so hard that it began to creak. 

“What the fuck?” Prez jumped. 

Monarch ran over and hastily grabbed the pistol off the floor.

The dented door burst from its hinges, clanging onto the tile.

“Dip-?” Prez glanced at her friend. Dip staggered forward. No, this was not Dip. The figure that stood in the doorway, viscous orange fluid leaking from his jaw and eyes, his two eyes that glowed a red hue. Three gunshot wounds across his chest dripped tinted blood, covering his tattered G-suit. He stood in poor posture, hunching backwards, staring at the three terrified people down the hall. The thing that once was their friend let out a deep scream and started sprinting down the corridor. 

Monarch squeezed the trigger.

Bullets struck Dip dead center, stopping him dead in his tracks and making him reel backwards. He still stood on his legs, and with an unnatural **snap,** his back propped back up. 

“Run! Get out of here!” Prez pulled Comic to her feet and started sprinting the other direction, dragging Comic along. 

Monarch unloaded the magazine into Dip, each deafening crack of the gun echoing in the halls. One of the rounds landed right in his eye socket, splattering the floor behind it with orange flesh and blood. The body struggled for a second and fell limp. Monarch’s triumph was short-lived. A second monstrosity, one of a ground crew, limped in through the doorway and more could be heard groaning behind it. Monarch ran.

Prez and Comic both sprinted down the hall, followed by Monarch, who caught up promptly, shoes pounding on the tile. 

“What was that?” Prez panted.

Comic flinched at the mention of her friend as if salt were being sprinkled on a fresh cut. “I, just found him there,” She stopped, “Attacking one of the ground crew, fuck, I don’t know.”

“We gotta get out of-Shit!” 

Monarch and Comic looked back in horror as an infected pilot lunged out of an open door and pinned Prez to the ground.

“Prez!? Prez!” Comic turned on her heel and lept on, wrapping her arm around the thing’s neck, trying to pull it away. The pilot groaned and kept struggling, slowly advancing, even as Monarch grabbed its torso and started pulling as well. 

“No, get off me you damn-AH FUCK!” Prez shrieked as cold, orange-covered teeth clamped down on her wrist, sending a brief shot of pain up her arm. 

The bite released abruptly as a gunstock slammed into the side of the attacker’s head, sending it sprawling. Monarch and Comic both dropped to the floor with it, but scrambled to the side as a spray of buckshot turned the recovering zombie’s head into an orange paste.

“You’re welcome,” Kaiser said bluntly as he inserted another shell into his semi-automatic shotgun. He sported a tactical vest with several small velcro pouches and wore green fatigues underneath. “Good to see you alive.”

“Fuck…Good to see you too Kaiser… Would have been better a minute earlier… ” Prez clutched her arm and rolled up her sleeve, wincing at the fabric dragging on the skin. The bite wasn’t deep, but it left some teeth marks and drew a small amount of blood that pooled on the wound. 

“Prez, you alright?” Comic questioned. 

“Here,” Kaiser tossed a roll of gauze, which Monarch promptly caught and started rolling around Prez’s arm, despite her insisting she was fine. “Bite doesn’t look that deep, and hopefully you didn’t get any orange shit in it. But, if you feel like it, I can give you a quick way out.”

Prez’s eyes widened. “Spread!? No! No, I’m fine, trust me!”

Comic stood up. “Kaiser-What the fuck is going on?”  
“Don’t know. Wouldn’t be surprised if it was the Feds.”  
“Is there anybody else left?”  
“That,” He gestured towards the corpse, “Was the last of Gunsel. Everyone else is dead, or one of those red-eyed fucks.” Kaiser looked at the three. “I don’t see Diplomat with you.”

Comic glanced down. “He-” she stuttered, ”-Monarch took care of it.”

“My condolences,” Kaiser said, as a faint groaning echoed from down the hall. A lone infected emerged from around the corner. Kaiser shouldered his gun and shot a stream of pellets straight into its upper body, killing it instantly.

“So,” Prez stood up, “What do we do? We’re fucked if we stay here.” 

“Well, we get the fuck out of here. Link up with CIF. Hopefully, get them to shell this place into the ground as well. One of the old rescue heli’s is on the tarmac, we just need to get to it.” Kaiser proposed.

More moaning and screaming could be heard, coming closer. Rapid footsteps and the dragging of feet becoming louder and louder. 

“Sounds like a whole orgy of the fucks are coming, move your asses!” He ushered the three in the other direction and followed closely behind, just as an infected slid around the corner and sprinted after them. Kaiser dispatched it with a crack of his shotgun, only for four more to emerge from behind.

Monarch’s heart raced. His body surging forward with every step. His expression remained one of mild alert, but his mind rushed with thoughts. 

Presidia. Flying thousands of feet in the air. Seeing the destruction and slaughter of millions of his people, but not one body. He only saw grateful survivors when he landed. People who he saved by shooting down as many missiles as he could. 

But this, this was different. He could see his failures. He could see who he failed to save, and they would lash out at him. Make him pay for every person that died. Every death he could’ve prevented if he’d tried just a bit harder. His mind wavered to Prez’s bite. If it did spread, he could only blame himself. His thoughts danced around the psychological landmine that Prez might- 

Monarch looked up at Prez, sprinting along with him. His mind relaxed a small amount. _She’s alive Monarch. Get yourself together, or that won’t be the case._

  
  


Shot whizzed by in rapid succession, embedding themselves in the infected pursuers. Kaiser was making his shots count, but the swarm did not seem to thin out, twenty or so chasing them with more leaking in from side rooms and doors. 

“TWO SHELLS! NOT GONNA HAVE TIME TO RELOAD!” Kaiser yelled as he flipped up the loading port of his shotgun. 

The four rounded a corner, the hallway ending at a red emergency door. Prez and Comic surged forward and pushed it wide open, the wall of cold air from the outside rushed in. They shot out of the door, footsteps sounding from tile to wet grass. Behind them, the screaming and incoherent yelling followed. 

Kaiser blasted the first two to emerge from the door, expending his last rounds. 

The sky was dark, grey clouds sparsely scattered across the purple horizon. The hard pavement runway and surrounding airfield were only illuminated by a few dim landing lights and lamps. A helicopter sat on one of the helipads, brightly marked with red highlights and the words “SICARIO S&R” on the tail. 

“There! Get inside!” Kaiser pointed to the aircraft.

Monarch rushed ahead and slid the heavy side door open. Kaiser ran to the side and opened the pilot’s side door, climbing in. Prez and Comic leapt inside and the door closed with a **slam** as Monarch came in after them.

The mass of ungodly monsters was closer than the group thought. Multiple bodies slammed against the side, rattling the helicopter. A few had crawled on top and began banging on the glass above the cockpit where Kaiser sat.

“Oh fuck-” Comic took a minute to catch her breath.

“One of you loads my gun so that we’re not screwed if they get in. I’m going to try and get this thing in the air.” Kaiser held out his shotgun to Comic, which she took as well as a pouch of shells. The gun was high quality, the grips covered with black textured polymer, and the sights being tipped with small green lights for ease of aiming. Comic looked at it and began inserting shells into the loading port.

Prez and Monarch both panted for a couple of seconds before standing back up.

“W-,” she swallowed, “What do you think happened to them?” Prez said looking through the window.

Monarch hadn’t got a chance to take a look at one of them from a safe position, let alone this close. While their skin had mostly retained its colour, the face had been completely mutilated, eyes glowing, and jaws locked down, spraying a familiar coloured substance and hue. 

“Cordium?” Prez noticed the colour. “It glows like it. As if Cordium couldn’t be weaponized any further, this shit happens.”

Monarch tapped Prez on the shoulder and made a rolling motion with his hands as if he were putting on a bandage.

“Oh-uh, you wanted to check my bandage?” Prez rolled up her sleeve. 

Monarch couldn’t see the wound itself, but a bit of blood had seeped into the dressing. He looked around and spotted a floor panel, sliding it open and taking out a small first aid kit. Monarch reached over to Prez’s arm.

“Hey! Hey, I can take care of that myself,” Prez protested as she unwrapped the old bandage and grabbed a fresh roll from Monarch. 

The bite wasn’t bad, but the blood had congealed. The veins around it were unusually purple. No sign of any viscous fluid, to Prez’s relief. 

Monarch pushed away Prez’s hand as she was about to cover it with some clean gauze, and held up a small bottle of antiseptic from the kit. 

“Oh-uh, alright,” Prez flinched as the cold liquid poured on the bite. It stung a lot, but she gritted her teeth and let Monarch finish disinfecting. Prez then wrapped it in the white fabric and rolled her sleeve down.

“Thanks,” Prez thanked Monarch, him giving a nod in response.

“Monarch, take the gun, you got nine shots,” Comic held it from the front grip. “I don’t think I can shoot straight anymore.”

Monarch took it from Comic’s hands and gave a worried look. Her light gold hair was messy and unkempt, fear and a long unbroken stare stuck on her face. Comic, the stoic and sarcastic hitman member, was unrecognizable. Monarch caught himself as he started to reach his arm out. _She needs some space, not bullshit._

A high-pitched whir started to sound from above. Kaiser gave a thumbs up from his seat.

A **crash** came from one of the side windows, as broken shards of glass poured through. The metal creaked and started to bend as more and more infected slammed and pulled and threw themselves into the helicopter.

“Fuck!” Kaiser frantically looked around him, “Monarch, put some shots into that window! Those rotors still got to spin up!” 

Monarch tightly grasped the shotgun and aimed at the window, spraying the opening with lead. The gun kicked, but he pressed on and shot every time one of them popped their heads inside.

The blades began gaining speed, slicing right through some of the people on top. Their blood splattered the roof with blood, limbs, and body parts. The helicopter lurched forward as the landing gear lifted off the ground. 

The horde was sent tumbling to the ground as the aircraft lifted higher and higher, and as it was about twenty meters into the air, only a few clung on to the side. Monarch opened the door and slammed them with the stock of the gun. They were safe, and the helicopter rose up and forward.

“This is Assassin one to any friendly callsigns on this net, how copy?” Kaiser put on a headset and tuned to the radio around.

A staticky voice responded. 

“Ga-XY-AW-Wh-Kais-ow-py,” Kaiser turned the knob a few notches further.

“I say again, this is AWACS Galaxy to Assassin one, how copy? I have you on the radar as an S&R helo.” The familiar voice spoke.

“Fuck, it’s nice to hear your voice Galaxy. Never mind my aircraft, I need you to divert all aircraft heading towards Airbase Fedrick. DON’T LAND. DO NOT LAND THERE.”

“Wait-what? Why?”

“Everything’s gone to shit, fucking Feds deployed a bio-weapon or something. Everyone’s dead.”

“Dead!? Everyone? Even-”

“Hitman one, his wizzo, and two are with me. The wizzo’s got a small bite, but we’re fine for the most part. Couldn’t see anyone else. I need a heading for the nearest airbase that isn’t hell, and then a line to Cascadian artillery.”

“Diplomat?-ah-uh nevermind, the heading is two four zero, I’ll ring them to tell you’re coming. What happened exactly?”

“Cordium? I didn’t fucking make the thing, tell me what other dustforsaken thing causes people to maul their friends?”

“Wha-Hold on, you’ve got an incoming bogey, heading four zero, evade!”

Kaiser swung the control stick to the right. Prez, Comic and Monarch tripped to the floor as a missile rushed past the tail rotor. A second missile came right after, striking the rear stabilizer with a deafening **boom**. 

Monarch caught a glimpse of a Federation jet streaking across the sky, red markings on the wings and vertical stabilizers. _Him._

“Agh-stick’s dead! We’re going down!” Kaiser moved loose stick around. The helicopter spiralled downwards, smoke pouring out of the engine.

Monarch saw Prez, fire, and then nothing.

\-------------------------------------------

Monarch awoke. A high-pitched ring rebounded in his head. The smell of smoke. A faint crackling of a fire. And then pain. His legs, the sharp agony going deep into the bone. He screamed in anguish. Gathering some willpower, he sat up. 

He was on a patch of grass. The crashed helicopter sat a couple of meters away. His eyes scanned his surroundings. Debris. Flaming debris. A fallen tree. Prez.

Monarch’s eyes opened wide. Prez laid there, unmoving, a long piece of metal lodged in her abdomen. 

Every nerve in his body resisted, but he crawled as fast as humanly possible up beside her.

“Prez.”

He spoke. 

“Prez!”

His voice was coarse.

“Prez!”

A pair of hazel eyes slowly opened.

“Monarch?” 

“Prez, thank dust.”

“Monarch, you’re talking?”

“That doesn’t matter. We’ve got to get you to some help.”

“What? Why-HOLY SHIT!” She looked at the object impaling her.

“Don’t look at it. Don’t look at it.” 

“Ah, oh dust. I don’t feel much.” 

“You’re in shock. Just keep awake.”

Monarch crawled around to the wound. There was blood. Too much. He couldn’t look at it directly. 

“It doesn’t look good.”

“I’m gonna die.”

“Prez, no, don’t say that.”

“Monarch. Just hear me out.”

“Prez-”

“I’ve got a family, a sister, up in the northern pacific,” Prez choked. “My sister will kill you,” Prez gave a weak smile. “A few regrets. Nothing too bad. I regret not going to that bar with you.”

They laid in silence for a few seconds.

“I’m sorry.” Monarch spoke, mustering the effort to talk.

“Y-you’ve got nothing to be sorry for.”

More silence.

“Monarch. Make me a promise.”

“Anything.”

“O-once, I’m gone, shoot me. I-I know. Just don’t think about it. I don’t want to be one of those t-things.”

“Prez, I c-can’t.”

Prez moved her hand over to Monarch’s and held it. 

“You can. I’m sorry. You were the best pilot I’ve flown with.”

Her soft breathing slowed. She closed her eyes. The colour slowly drained from her face. They stayed like that for what seemed like hours. 

And then, just like that, the crown had nothing more to live for.


End file.
